


Song of Songs

by theDeadTree



Series: GreedFall Oneshots & Scene Collections [3]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theDeadTree/pseuds/theDeadTree
Summary: She’d never met someone like him before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some loosely connected scenes for your consideration. I romanced everyone in this game and Síora quickly turned out to be my favourite. I have no justification for why this exists other than that.

“The first time you saw me, did you really think I was a native?”

Síora stopped dead in her tracks the moment the question was asked, swiftly turning on her heels to face him, her eyebrows raised incredulously. It seemed like such an odd thing to ask – with such an obvious answer.

For so long, she remained there, rooted to the spot and speechless, watching him closely as if to discern his true intention – and he watched her right back, brow furrowed slightly and a small grimace on his lips as the inherent awkwardness of the situation seemed to dawn on him, but always with a strange sort of naïve innocence about him.

He really _didn’t_ know, she realised after far too long. He truly had no _idea_ what he was, or what that mark even meant. And the more she stared at him, carefully taking in every aspect of his being, the clearer it came to her that the question had been burning in his mind for days now, probably ever since their first interaction; and he hadn’t gathered the courage to ask her about it until now.

He was so strange, and _so_ confusing. Here he was, calling her nonsense words like _princess_ and _majesty;_ a renaigse on ol menawí who didn’t know what that meant. Nothing about him seemed to fit her perceptions of what she felt he _should_ be like. Too kind and well-meaning compared to the other renaigse, and _far_ too renaigse himself to truly be an on ol menawí like any she’d known.

In that moment, she couldn’t help but feel sad for him. Had he truly gone through life without _knowing?_ Had he not known, even when he bound? Had he bound _at all?_ He couldn’t have. He would surely know these things if he had.

She found she had a thousand questions for him then, none of which she thought he would answer – if he _could_ answer at all.

Instead, she swallowed uncomfortably and glanced off to the side, suddenly unable to meet his gaze anymore.

“Aside from the way you dress, you _resemble_ a native,” she told him, perhaps a little more defensively than initially intended. “I have never seen an on ol menawí amongst the renaigse before. Is it so surprising I made this mistake?”

She sounded almost angry – and she wasn’t entirely sure why. She was confused, she decided. He was a confusing person. Nothing about him made any kind of sense; it was a perfectly logical and normal reaction to have. Or perhaps, if she was being honest with herself, she was angry and defensive because she was embarrassed at having mistaken him for one of her own when he so very _clearly_ wasn’t.

The way he dressed should have been enough to clue her in on his nature, let alone the way he’d stared at her so incredulously when she’d tried to appeal to him, and the clear accent in his voice the moment he’d begun to speak.

Already, she felt the heat rush to her cheeks at the memory, and she quickly glanced down, suddenly desperate not to let him see her so flushed with embarrassment.

“No,” he muttered with a small sigh, causing her eyes to almost immediately flick back up to his face, the humiliation suddenly gone from her mind. “But I find it unsettling.”

That quiet admission almost immediately sent her spiralling into an uncontrollable storm of emotions; none of them good. All that seemed to say to her was that he found her and her people repulsive, that any perceived similarity between them was something to be ashamed of. It was an automatic, knee-jerk reaction and she knew it, but in that moment, if there had been another way to take it, she didn’t see it.

It must’ve shown in her face then, because his eyes abruptly widened, his expression quickly turning to one of absolute horror as the unspoken implications of what he’d said to her finally seemed to dawn on him.

“No!” he had to stop himself from outright yelling, holding his hands out defensively. “No, that isn’t- …I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to offend. I’m not usually- …I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what _did_ you mean, _renaigse?”_ she asked him icily, putting extra emphasis on that last word, knowing that he’d understand it to be an insult this time.

He flinched back slightly at her newly hostile tone, which Síora tried not to feel too pleased by, though not to much avail. Quickly, he looked down, tearing his gaze away from hers; apparently unable to look at her anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated slowly, his posture stiff and his voice becoming low and controlled, taking on the tone Síora now knew was reserved for those with power amongst the renaigse – and part of her couldn’t help but feel a little flattered that he’d taken it with her now as well. “I only meant-”

He cut himself off, apparently thinking better of it. Síora simply stayed there and waited, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed and critical.

“On the continent, everyone looked at me as if I was this- this strange beast,” he began after an excruciatingly long pause, only now glancing up to meet her gaze once more, despite his obvious discomfort. “And _here…_ people think I’m a native despite the fact that I know almost nothing of your culture.”

For so long, she just stared silently, watching him without offering any words at all. And he just returned her gaze, looking desperate and pained and vulnerable and earnest and self-conscious and utterly _terrified_ at the same time. He was evidently expecting her to snap at him again, anxious to explain himself and scared that he wasn’t able to do so.

Here was a man who had been othered his entire life – only just now meeting someone with whom he had anything in common, unsure about what that meant and frightened of the implications.

And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, that was something she knew she could understand, at least to a degree.

She softened, almost in spite of herself.

“I understand that it might be a strange experience,” she said quietly, not entirely sure what else to say to him in that moment. “But you should wear these marks with _pride. _Because they are the marks of the on ol menawí; those whose flesh is bonded to Tír Fradí. This makes us closer.”

That didn’t seem to help assuage his fears much, if at all. If anything, he seemed to only grow more tense at her words – giving her one short, stiff nod before beginning to turn away, his body having gone almost completely rigid.

“You seem frightened,” she observed.

He jerked back in surprise, whirling around to face her once more. “No, no. I’m just-” he cut himself off, realising how his tone and posture seemed to directly contradict what he was saying. “You’ve, ah, given me something to think about, I suppose.”

_And it frightens you,_ she wanted to say. There was clearly something there, some deep insecurity she’d managed to get at without realising; something he was frantically trying to hide.

“We… should get going,” he said, glancing uneasily at the sky, putting an end to the conversation before she could even think to ask.

She nodded, knowing that these were not answers he would give to her today – and maybe not ever. “I’ll follow you.”


	2. Chapter 2

She’d never liked this place. And after today, she was sure that would never change.

The smell of burning flesh permeated the air, small spot fires eating at the piles corpses strewn across the battlefield; those of her clan and the lions alike. Síora wandered despondently, her eyes straining to see through the thick smoke and the glare of the rapidly setting sun, tracing over the carnage, the weight in her chest growing each time she saw the vacant, unseeing eyes of someone she’d once known.

Behind her, her mother’s banner rippled in the wind; something she was determined to ignore for the time being. In that moment, she couldn’t bear to see it, to be reminded of the terrible reality she now found herself trapped in.

How had it all gone so badly, so quickly? When she’d woken up that morning, she still had a family and a clan to speak of. Now, what was she left with? Eseld had determinedly limped her way from the battlefield without so much as looking at her, and their mother remained missing entirely – captured and very likely dead. Síora did not want to hold out hope that she was alive. She wasn’t sure she would survive the pain. It was simpler, _easier,_ to just accept that her mother was gone, and she would never see her again.

It was fitting, truly, that she should lose everything here, in the shadow of díd e kíden nádaigeis, where her people had nearly met their end once before.

Uneasily, she glanced up at the ruins – the ancient crumbling stone that had dominated this place for as long as she, or anyone else for that matter, could remember. It was starting to seem like the renaigse were a plague they would never truly be rid of. And all she could do about it was stand there, motionless and bitter with the knowledge that no towering great and powerful nádaig was going to appear from the mountain to save her clan.

“Síora?”

At the call of her name, her head snapped up, just in time to see a figure wandering a little aimlessly a small ways away – half obscured by smoke, though she knew exactly who he was. There was only one person like him, after all.

“On ol menawí,” she called back to him, never moving from where she was, waiting for him to come to her.

And sure enough, he turned towards the sound of her voice, quickly making his way over, revealing an expression of sheer relief as he drew closer and the smoke started to clear.

“It’s starting to get dark,” he began, his voice soft and choosing his words carefully. “Kurt found a fairly decent place to camp for the night, just a little further up the hill, if you’d like to join us. We can head out for this military outpost come the morning – I doubt they’ll receive us before then.”

His words were true. But then, _his_ words always were.

“Thank you, on ol menawí,” she murmured after what felt like far too long, never quite meeting his eye. “You… are a good person.”

Far too much so. And she knew that one day, eventually, it would be the end of him. Life only ever seemed to see fit to punish the kindest souls – this she knew from experience.

He cocked his head slightly to the side, brow furrowing with confusion. “I had thought you’d want to scold me for wanting you to spare that man.”

He wasn’t wrong about that – there was absolutely a part of her that was still seething with rage over what happened, over his pleas for her to release the lion warrior, pleas to which she had ultimately acquiesced. But that was as much her fault as his; she didn’t _have_ to listen.

Maybe that was a sign of just how much she was coming to respect him, and his opinion.

A shiver went up her spine at that thought. He was starting to get to her, in a way no renaigse had before. If she wasn’t careful, he’d have her full trust, and there would be nothing she could do when he turned around and betrayed her.

Instead, she shook her head, before turning heel and beginning to make her way uphill, deeper into the ruins, not looking back as he fell into step beside her. “You listened to me, despite how you felt. You didn’t have to. It’s only right I do the same for you as well.”

For a moment – just one, fleeting moment that was gone as soon as it came – the corners of his lips twitched with the smallest hint of a smile.

“Well. You know the island far better than I do,” he replied softly, only for his expression to immediately darken when he remembered the horrific scene behind them. “I’m sorry we didn’t arrive sooner.”

His voice was low and quiet and seemed to crack with genuine sorrow, which confused her. He didn’t know these people. He had no stake in the battle, or its outcome. None of the bodies strewn across the ground they walked on meant anything to him, so why did he grieve for them?

He _cared,_ it seemed. Far too much, about everyone, all the time.

Síora winced. It must be _exhausting_ to live like that.

“You said you wanted to look at these buildings?” she asked, suddenly desperate to change the subject as she ploughed her way uphill, past where she could see the rest of their companions setting up a campsite. “Come then, before it gets too dark to see.”

She expected him to balk then, to change his mind and turn back, to respectfully leave her alone to grieve in her own time. She didn’t know if that was the reaction she _wanted,_ only that she expected it. Instead, he stayed with her, scrambling up the sharp, rocky incline to a small cluster of yet more ruins. She’d never liked this place, never liked being here. And even now, she could feel her hair stand on end, as a silent but distinct unease came over her.

There were ghosts here – the dying screams of those who’d fought so long ago still hanging in the air. Just being there, knowing what had happened, was enough to feel them… faint and indistinct, but always there. Like breath on the back of her neck.

This place was haunted, she knew it in her soul. By memories, if nothing else.

She didn’t realise that she’d stopped dead in her tracks until he’d already moved ahead of her, picking his way through the ancient debris with a grace and ease she honestly hadn’t expected of him. He seemed more energetic now than before, overtaken by some deep inquisitiveness about their surroundings – climbing over the rocks and broken steps with all the vigour of a child excited to explore some unknown, forbidden place. For a moment, Síora was at a complete loss to explain his behaviour, before realising that he didn’t _know_ the story. He didn’t feel the dread she did. To him, these buildings, this place – it was nothing more than a curiosity.

She wished she could share that feeling, even if for just a moment. Anything to distract her from the brutal reality of the battlefield sprawled out behind them.

Just more ghosts to add to the ones already here.

Síora kept walking at her own pace, content to remain dawdling a little ways behind as he investigated properly up ahead; if only to hide just how uncomfortable she was. The stones in this place had always been eerily silent, the air too still, the area too devoid of life. Even the animals seemed to shy away from here, just as her people did. Simply being here felt to her like some terrible violation of a sacred, unspoken trust.

She should go back. Let him investigate on his own, if he absolute had to do so. _She_ certainly shouldn’t linger. And yet, she kept moving forwards, poking through the ruins, glancing in through ancient, broken doorways and windows that had long since lost their glass.

“Here,” she called out, hoping to get his attention. “There are some images on these walls.”

And there were; vague shapes, splashes of colour, deep browns and reds against something softer, where the all too familiar art style of her own people abruptly collided with something else, something she didn’t recognise.

That seemed to be enough to pique his interest, as he was almost instantly back at her side, peering through the gap along with her.

“Some kind of fresco?” he asked – mostly to himself – as he slowly pushed his way past her and manoeuvred his way around and over the scattered debris to get himself inside the half collapsed room.

Síora pulled back for a moment, biting her lip with uncertainty, torn between keeping her distance and staying respectful, and investigating further. She couldn’t pretend that this place hadn’t fascinated her from a young age – as unsettling as it was. But still, a deep sense of dread had taken root, clawing at her gut and pooling in her chest as the souls of countless dead, and indeed, perhaps even the spirits of the island themselves, urged her to leave.

She should’ve left, and let him trespass in this place on his own.

She should’ve.

But she didn’t, instead finding herself making her way inside to join him.

Her curiosity usually did win out in the end. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

“This is the first time I’ve seen these drawings so closely,” she mused, mostly to herself in that moment, some part of her still not quite able to accept the fact that she really was here, this close to something straight out of the legends she’d been told as a child.

“You’ve never come here?”

He sounded shocked. Maybe he was. Maybe she was too.

“You certainly seem to know the place,” he added when she said nothing.

She shook her head slightly at that, still unable to tear her gaze away from the fresco. “This site is sacred and taboo. Everyone knows where it is, but no one ever comes here.”

Did that accurately describe it? She wasn’t sure. But there didn’t seem to be any other way to put it.

“All these colours…” she murmured distantly, staring vacantly at the images while her mind seemed to drift a thousand miles away. “They’re so beautiful. I never would have imagined that they could create something so delicate.”

“Who are you talking about?”

The sound of his voice, while not surprising, jolted her roughly out of her thoughts, and she found herself tearing herself away from the fresco, twisting around to face him.

“Of those who built these lodgings,” she explained, not sure what else to say as she turned back to the wall. “That my ancestors vanquished in a past war.”

A great and terrible conflict that had nearly destroyed them all, in the end. All the sacrifices, all the death, all the terrible things the ancients had done to drive away the invaders, at the cost of almost everything… and here they were again. Being invaded, again. By people who came from the sea, _again._

She had to wonder if any of it had been worth it.

“You know who they were?” he asked, bringing her sharply back to reality.

“I only know the legend,” she told him quietly. “The legend of díd e kíden nádaigeis.”

He didn’t look back at her, his hand trailing over the ancient fresco, fingertips running over the brickwork, his eyes carefully studying the images. “I’m listening.”

Síora inhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders back as she attempted to calm herself. She’d always hated this place, and its story. And being here, telling it to a renaigse… it just seemed _wrong,_ like it somehow went against everything she’d ever been taught to believe.

But he _was_ different, wasn’t he?

She had to hope so. She was making a grave mistake, otherwise.

“It is said our people lived peacefully,” she began, hating herself as her voice began to shake. “Until the men appeared from the sea…”


	3. Chapter 3

The lions did not want her here.

Síora rolled her shoulders back and arched her neck to face the sky, closing her eyes and letting out a long, shaky sigh. Every part of her felt strangely numb, overwhelmed with feelings she could no longer discern properly. Nothing seemed quite real anymore, nothing except the gaping void in her soul, and the fact that the lions so _clearly_ did not want her here, standing in their midst. The day after such a brutal conflict with her people, she knew her presence made them uncomfortable.

She did not want them, either. She didn’t want them to destroy her clan, she didn’t want them to kidnap and murder her mother; she didn’t want them to take people, to torture people, to shake their minds. She didn’t want them on the island at all. But people couldn’t always get what they wanted.

It was one small, tiny, utterly insignificant victory she had over them, but just enough of one for her to smile. They had to entertain her, because the legate had insisted. They had to give credence to her requests, because the legate had said so. They had to respect her and give her their condolences, because of the legate’s presence by her side. They had to sit by and wait for what must’ve been hours as she grieved over her mother’s corpse, because the legate had ordered it.

She still didn’t quite understand what him being a ‘legate’ really meant, only that it was something he could wield as well as any weapon. He would always be on ol menawí to her.

He had done so much for her already – and here she was, about to ask yet another favour of him.

She could see him, standing at the entrance of the outpost, talking – or perhaps arguing – with a lion soldier, looking so tall and so composed and so dignified that Síora immediately went to wipe away the remnants of her tears, suddenly overcome with insecurity.

_Foolish,_ she thought almost immediately, her hand quickly dropping back down to her side. _Why does it matter?_

It didn’t.

Or at least, that was what she reinforced to herself, carefully ignoring the part of her that wasn’t so sure.

She caught his gaze over the other man’s shoulder, just in time to see the corners of his lips quirk with the slightest of smiles before he promptly dismissed the soldier.

“They’re keen for us to leave,” he noted quietly, nodding at the main buildings of the outpost as the soldier skulked off, disappearing behind the wooden fortifications.

Síora didn’t move.

“I’m not leaving,” she insisted as she folded her arms tightly across her chest – reminding herself of a petulant child as yet more tears began to slide silently down her cheeks in spite of all her efforts to contain them. “I must- …I must take her with me. She needs to go back to the village, on ol menawí. She must be given back to the earth.”

She’d come too far, done too much, to simply leave it here. The renaigse had taken so many things from her lately; she would not let them take her mother as well. She would burn down the entire outpost and all the men within it if it came to that. There was no other option.

“I know,” he said softly. “That’s why I spoke to the captain about it, while you were- ah… while you were preoccupied. He’s agreed to deliver your mother’s remains to your village.”

She stared.

For so long, that’s all she seemed capable of doing, standing there and staring absently at him, eyes wide and full of disbelief at the words she’d just heard. In that moment, none of it seemed real.

“You- you _talked_ to him?” she choked out after a pause, her mind still strangely devoid of any real thought as she struggled to process the information. “You _convinced_ him?”

He nodded, only to almost immediately tear his gaze away from hers.

“I… suppose I did,” he admitted, quietly, never looking at her, his hand running over the back of his neck as if he was embarrassed at having done such a thing. “Even if I had to twist his arm a little. Forgive me, I should’ve told you what I was going to do before-”

He cut off with a startled gasp as she practically fell against him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and pressing her face into his chest as what little remained of her composure crumbled away.

“I fear I’ve said it so many times that it’s become completely meaningless,” he murmured as she clung to him, quietly crying into his chest. “But I am _so _sorry for your loss, Síora.”

It was true – he had said it many times since yesterday. She wasn’t sure he knew what else _to_ say to her. He was strange like that; whenever she saw him speak to someone else, he seemed to radiate confidence, always knowing exactly what to say in any given situation. And yet, every time _she_ tried to strike up conversation with him, she found herself speaking to what seemed like another man entirely; some nervous boy constantly shifting, and always at a loss for words.

What did she do? What about her frightened him so? It wasn’t because she was native; she’d watched him speak to and even argue with several of her people with utmost confidence. Whatever it was that shook him so deeply, it seemed unique to her, though she was at a loss at what it could possibly be.

Aside from that little quirk of character, she thought her mother would’ve liked him. That’s what she wanted to believe, anyway. She wouldn’t have been impressed with more renaigse at first, but Síora liked to believe she would’ve warmed up to him eventually. They would’ve gotten along, she thought. He’d already proven himself a formidable fighter and staunch ally; exactly what her mother had asked her to look for.

She wished they’d been able to meet.

She wished she’d gotten there in time to save her.

She should’ve _been_ there.

“Thank you, carants,” she whispered as she very slowly pulled herself away from him, her voice strangely flat despite the storm of emotion that crashed around inside her.

He looked at her a little strangely then, one eyebrow arched just slightly in complete and utter confusion. “…carants?”

She nodded, letting out a shakily exhale and again trying her best to wipe the tears from her face.

“Yes,” she said, her voice low and barely audible. “My friend.”


	4. Chapter 4

For the longest time – what seemed to be an absolute eternity in and of itself – he simply stood there, rooted to the spot and unable to move, staring absently at the admiral, eyes wide with terror and shock. He said nothing as the admiral uttered one single quiet apology; didn’t move as Kurt stepped in to try to pull him away. He seemed to have completely disengaged with the world, and yet was so determined to remain where he was that nothing could tear him away.

Síora too, found herself frozen in place, a few paces away. For a time, she’d only been half-listening to the conversation, with only a passing interest in what was being said. She already knew what she cared to, she thought. She knew the truth of the people of the sea, and nothing else mattered. The specifics of the first invasion of the island didn’t interest her. And that held true.

But there was more.

She was starting to wonder if there would _always_ be more.

She stood there, completely at a loss as her mind reeled – because this was the last thing she had been expecting, even if it seemed obvious now.

She should’ve seen it earlier.

She _did_ see it earlier; and quickly dismissed it as a mistake on her part. She’d never thought, never even _considered_ the possibility that he might-

“It’s not true.”

The sound of his voice, slicing mercilessly through her own thoughts, caused Síora’s attention to immediately snap back to him, suddenly full of worry and concern.

It wasn’t unfounded. He was so tense, so terrified, and _so_ pale in that moment, she only needed a cursory glance at him to know that he was inches away from simply breaking into pieces.

“It’s a lie,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, still staring the admiral in the face, his expression suddenly wild as he backed up a couple of paces. “All of it. _Lies.”_

The admiral did not flinch; simply squared her shoulders and stared right back at him, her expression almost completely impassive, barely reacting at all to his accusations.

Did she not care? Síora wasn’t sure. The woman had always been difficult for her to read. Most of the renaigse were – they all worked tirelessly to hide themselves, hide their feelings, hide all of their truths in order to please everyone around them. Even _he_ was like that. This was possibly the first time she’d ever seen that façade begin to crack.

And she’d never been so scared for anyone in her life.

“I would not lie to you, my lord,” the admiral said flatly, her gaze never wavering from his. “You asked me for the truth – and _now_ you have it.”

He shook his head at that; almost violently so, as if trying to rid himself of the thoughts plaguing his mind by force. As if they would not leave him any other way.

“I don’t believe it,” he hissed to no one in particular as his breathing grew increasingly frantic and his hands balled up into tight fists and he continued to edge his way backwards. “I _don’t_ believe it.”

_“Breathe,_ green blood,” Kurt called out for the first time in what felt like hours, his tone full of worry.

For a moment, one precious, single moment, it seemed as though that advice was heeded. Síora saw him stop dead in his tracks, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself down. But as time dragged on, as the silence became all the more unbearable, breaths turned back into gasps, before ultimately morphing into full hyper-ventilating once more.

What she saw then was nothing more than a boy; clinging desperately to all the lies he’d been fed because the truth was too frightening to consider. Here was a boy forced to confront a reality that he’d been avoiding all his life. And suddenly, a lot of things about him that had confused her to no end finally started to make sense.

“It’s not true,” he whispered one more time, low and shaky and directed seemingly at himself more than anyone else. “You’re lying to me. It’s- it’s _not_ true. It _can’t_ be true.”

She moved towards him then, anxious to get to him, to say something, to do _something._ To pull him out of the death spiral he seemed trapped in. But before she could reach him, before she could even get close, he pulled back even further, turned on his heels and all but fled the port, running back towards the city gates at full pelt.

_“On ol-!”_ Síora began to shout after him, only getting a few steps before something – some_one_ – roughly pulled her back, stopping her in her tracks and forcing her to watch on helplessly as he disappeared through the city gates.

“Síora,” Kurt called softly, causing her to whirl around to face him, eyes wide with fury. “Stop. Let him go.”

Immediately, she fought to free herself from his iron grip. “What are you _doing?!_ He needs-”

“He needs _space,_ pretty flower,” Kurt reasoned, cutting her off mid-sentence. “He needs to process. I think you do, too.”

“You do not know me, _renaigse,”_ she snarled in as vicious a tone as she could manage, pulling even further away, edging towards the entrance of the port, though she knew that he was long gone.

“What, and you think charging after him when he’s in this state is a good idea?” Kurt challenged, nodding at the city gates while Síora seethed. “Maybe I don’t know you, but I know _him._ He’ll come back, in his own time. That’s what he needs now; _time.”_

“But he’s-” she started to protest, only to cut off as she realised that she didn’t quite know what she was trying to argue. “…you don’t…”

She trailed off into silence, suddenly bitter with the knowledge that she had nothing truly worthwhile to say while emotions stormed around inside her, wild and so far out of control. She didn’t have any words to put to them. No way to explain them. Only this strong and unrelenting urge to chase after him, after her friend that she knew was hurting.

_“Síora,”_ Kurt called her name harshly, seeing this. “I know you care about him; I know you want to help. But right now, you’re _not_ helping.”

It was wrong.

It was all wrong.

It was wrong to let him go, to stay back and watch on as he fled, to simply wait and do nothing but hope it would all resolve itself in the end.

It was _wrong,_ and Kurt _knew_ it was wrong, but he still didn’t let her go.

All this time. All this time, he’d been one of them, and he hadn’t _known._ All this time, she’d thought him to be the best of the renaigse, because she hadn’t known. She’d stared him directly in the face and she hadn’t put it together, hadn’t worked it out, hadn’t known.

She should’ve _known._

She _had_ to have known.

She had known. She’d known, and dismissed it, let herself be convinced otherwise. She’d fallen for the same lies he’d been fed all his life. The same lies he now clung to because the truth was too hard to face.

It never should’ve happened. It was confusing, and terrible, and nonsensical, and all so _wrong._

“He’ll come back,” Kurt reasoned, watching her closely now, though Síora could no longer tell if he was trying to convince her, or himself. “When he’s ready. Trust that he will. Okay?”

For so long, she didn’t move, still locked in place by his unyielding grip on her arm, her eyes wide with disbelief and rage. She couldn’t believe that he was keeping her here, keeping her from following. She couldn’t believe that he genuinely thought it was the right thing to do, not now.

_“Okay?”_ he repeated when she said nothing.

Slowly, over what felt like an agonising eternity, Síora forced herself to relax, letting her hand that had been poised to slap the man holding her fall back to her side.

So wrong.

So, _so _wrong.

But what else could she do?

So she let out a long, exhausted exhale, and allowed herself to relax in Kurt’s now rapidly loosening grip, until his hand fell away from her completely.

“Okay,” she murmured, the word feeling like poison in her mouth. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was quiet, in the house.

It seemed like it was _always_ quiet these days, the silence so pervasive that it was getting to the point where Síora found herself struggling to remember what had been like beforehand. The news had sent shockwaves through their little party, and all most of them could do in response was simply sit there in silence as things finally began to make sense. Aphra had all but barricaded herself in the library, burying herself in her texts – though whether that was strange for her, Síora couldn’t say. Vasco had taken to wandering the port aimlessly, watching ships coming into dock with an expression of longing on his face. Kurt seemed to have relegated himself to the city’s largest dwelling, standing at the side of the cousin. Mál. _Governor._

Meanwhile, Petrus didn’t seem to have reacted at all, and the legate himself was frequently nowhere to be found.

Síora tried not to worry for him. She tried to go back to normal – whatever _normal_ was now – and not spend every waking moment obsessing over him and how he might be reacting. He’d asked to be left alone, after all. She should be able to give him that, at the very least.

It was fine.

He was _fine._

_She_ was fine.

That was the mantra she repeated to herself as she paced the length of the bedroom she’d been given, never stopping, always moving forward. It had quickly become the only way she could bring herself to focus. But at the same time, she had _so_ many feelings about everything and working through them all quietly in this place was beginning to seem impossible.

She cared about him. More than she wanted to admit. Far more than she knew was wise. If the past few days had taught her anything, it was that she cared about him so much and she absolutely did _not_ how to process that.

Everything had gotten so complicated since he’d come into her life.

There was a knock on the door.

Síora immediately stopped dead in her tracks, frozen in place in the middle of the room, her head snapping up and eyes wide as she stared at it incredulously, not quite sure what to do or if she had imagined it. For what felt like a sheer eternity, she didn’t move at all, simply stood there and stared, completely at a loss while her brain frantically scrambled to come up with explanations for who it was and why they were here, seeking her out this late at night.

And then;

“Síora?” she heard him – him with his unmistakable accent, even muffled as it was – call from the other side. “Are you there?”

Slowly, she took a few tentative steps forwards, reaching out to the door with a shaking hand as her mind reeled; frantically trying to think of something, _anything_ she could say.

Instead, she found herself simply lost for words as she pulled the door open, revealing him standing there, shifting awkwardly in the hallway, unable to keep still, his face twisted up into a pained expression that made it seem as though he wanted to be literally _anywhere_ else.

The corners of her lips immediately quirked into a bright smile the instant she saw him. “On ol menawí.”

He flinched back at that, as if her words had burned him. Síora’s face immediately fell, and with it the realisation that calling him by that now was only going to hurt him.

“…carants,” she corrected after a brief pause, keeping a careful view of his face in order to see if that was any better. “Did you need something?”

“May I come in?”

The question was barely audible, halting, and awkward, and it was Síora could do to simply pull back a step or two and beckon him inside. She waited there for a moment as he stumbled in, rushing to close the door behind him, leaning on it until it clicked shut, eyes closed and letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He certainly _looked_ tired; but that was hardly surprising. He’d had a stressful time lately; though that was surely putting it mildly.

She waited, not quite sure what else to do in that moment. There didn’t seem to be anything else she _could_ do, not without the risk of frightening him away. She watched him in almost complete silence as he pushed himself away from the door, staggering across the room until he found the bed and sank down onto it, keeping his eyes to the floor and never looking anywhere else.

For so long, what felt like – and possibly could’ve been – and absolute eternity, there was silence.

And then;

“I should apologise.”

Síora’s head snapped up at that, blinking rapidly out of sheer confusion. “I- …what?”

He didn’t meet her gaze. Didn’t look up at all. “My behaviour these past few days, I… well. I’m sorry. I never wanted to give you the impression that I don’t want anything to do with your people, or that I’m repulsed by you – it couldn’t be further from the truth.”

_Your people._

Síora tried not to wince at that – it was natural for him to say that, to the point it was probably unthinking. And still, some part of her couldn’t help but feel sad that he was distancing himself from her, from _their_ people. Some part of her couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that he still clung desperately onto his identity as a renaigse, despite everything they’d done to him.

Anxiously, she shoved that feeling away, as far down as it would go.

“You were in shock,” she reasoned quietly, easing herself down on the bed next him.

“That’s _not_ an excuse,” he hissed, though the hostility seemed more directed at himself than anyone else as he raked his fingers across his scalp, ripping out his hair as he went, trying to focus on his breathing as it verged into hyper-ventilation. “I shouldn’t- …nevermind. Just- …know that I’m sorry.”

There was a pause as she watched and waited for him to continue and he seemed to have nothing else to say. Briefly, Síora wondered if she should say something, change the subject, _something,_ but when she looked at him, she could see that there was clearly something else on his mind. Something he seemed desperate to talk about, despite not being able to find the words, nor the courage to say them.

“Tell me,” she urged him quietly, placing her hand on his in some effort to reassure him.

A small, breathless chuckle escaped him then; a little hysterical and completely devoid of any real humour as a hand flew to his cheek and began relentlessly rubbing his jawline as if it would somehow magically wipe the mark sprawled there away.

“No one else has this, you know?” he began shakily, his nails biting mercilessly into the mottled green of his marked skin. “Not on the continent. Not one _single_ person. Just me.”

Síora’s brow creased, unsure what exactly he was trying to get at. She had figured this out well enough for herself – he was the only renaigse she’d met with the mark of the bond, and he was obviously a special case. It seemed clear to her that the people of his island didn’t bond with the land as hers did.

“So?” she prompted, watching him closely.

He still didn’t meet her gaze; it was getting to the point where Síora couldn’t help but wonder if he was too ashamed to even try looking at her anymore.

“So…_ so…_ I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but I don’t- …I don’t look much like anyone in my family,” he managed to choke out after far too long. “And when I was younger, there was a rumour… people thought I may have been illegitimate; the result of some sordid affair of my-”

He cut off then, his eyes growing wide for a moment and his mouth snapping shut mid-sentence.

“…of… uh, Princess de Sardet,” he finished quietly, the bitterness in his tone painfully clear as his hands clenched into tight fists and his eyes never once strayed from the floor.

“And this… bothers you?”

He let out a breathless, humourless chuckle and nodded. “It did. It still _does._ More than I was ever willing to admit,” he mumbled as all the cheer – however bitter and sarcastic – drained from his face. “I shouldn’t have cared. It shouldn’t have mattered to me. I knew who I was, and that should’ve been enough.”

It should’ve been. But it wasn’t. Síora knew that feeling, all too well – but she’d never imagined him being victim to it himself. He’d always exuded so much confidence, always did everything with the utmost assurance, he had been one of the last people in the _world_ she’d expected to hear anything like this from. But then, that’s what the renaigse were like, wasn’t it? All lying to each other and themselves, always trying to be the version of themselves that everyone else would approve of. She’d never considered how fragile and lonely that must make a person.

Suddenly, a lot of things about the usually incomprehensible renaigse culture began to make sense.

“The idea lost popularity after a while and for a time I thought I’d moved past it,” he continued, breaking her roughly out of her thoughts, his voice so small and so quiet and so full of fear. “But coming here, meeting you, seeing your people… listening to everyone tell me how _remarkably similar_ I was to you over and _over_ again… it- it scared me.”

Síora’s eyes narrowed slightly at that. _“Scared_ you?”

He swallowed uncomfortably and nodded, quickly turning away so she could no longer see his face.

“Because…” he began somewhat haltingly, “because, for the first time in my life, I had to give credence to something I didn’t want to accept.”

Unbidden, a wealth of memories sprang to the forefront of her mind, and she realised that she’d seen what he was talking about herself; times when he’d grown increasingly uncomfortable, when he’d rushed to change the subject or vacate the area entirely in order to avoid conversations, when his hand had automatically flown to cover his cheek out of some reflex.

This was something that had been plaguing him for far longer than she’d ever known him. And like so many other things, she hadn’t seen it.

“And… I suppose the rumours were true, in the end,” he murmured, let out a shout of awkward, breathless, and painfully uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to _be_ anymore. And I’m starting to wonder if I ever did.”

She sighed. “So find out.”

His head snapped up as he twisted around to face her, brow furrowed with confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“Find a new identity,” she told him flatly. “If you don’t like the one you had because it was a lie, find a new one. Let yourself be.”

“You think I can?”

“You are not on your island anymore,” she reminded him. “There is nothing stopping you.”

The corners of his lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile, before he turned back to stare absently at the door.

“Somehow I doubt it’s that simple,” he mused. “I’m not really… _native.”_

“You could learn.”

“And who would teach me?” he asked bitterly, still refusing to meet her eye. “Aren’t I just one more renaigse trying to insert himself where he doesn’t belong? I don’t even know your _language.”_

Síora bit her lip slightly and reached her arm around him, squeezing his shoulders and pulling him in closer. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing or why she was doing it, and half-expected him to immediately pull away, but instead he simply leaned into her, apparently appreciating her half-hearted attempts at comfort.

“If you truly would like to learn,” she murmured after a pause. “I could teach you.”

At first, her offer was met with silence. Síora simply sat there and waited, knowing there was nothing else she could do while he simply remained where he was, leaning against her with his head on her chest, still and silent. And then, slowly, he pulled away from her, inhaling and deeply and rolling his shoulders back as he pushed his hair out of his face.

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious.”

“I _am_ being serious.”

There was a pause as he stopped to take that in – evidently it hadn’t been what he was expecting to hear. Briefly, Síora wondered what she’d done that left him inclined to think she was joking, only to quickly decide that it didn’t matter. Not really. Because for the first time in days, his lips cracked into what Síora knew was a genuine smile.

“You know, I… I think I’d like that.”


	6. Chapter 6

When she emerged from the cave, night had fallen.

For a moment, Síora simply stood there, closing her eyes for a moment and breathing in the cool air. She felt… she didn’t know what she felt. An emptiness in her soul that had been with her so long it was beginning to feel like an old friend. Emotional wounds cut so deep that they still hurt, even now, even weeks later. The small, lingering comfort that her mother had been returned to the earth; that all was as it should be, and she no longer had to fight for it.

There was an emptiness, but an odd sort of freedom, too. A weight she’d been bearing for so long had been removed. And maybe now, she could finally begin to heal.

She hugged herself tightly and sniffed – from the cold or the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, she couldn’t say – before putting one foot in front of the other, and slowly trudging her way across the clearing, knowing she would not return here.

_Goodbye, mátir._

Cold and empty, but free.

Was this what closure felt like?

Ahead, she saw him, hunched over by a small fire, staring aimlessly into the flames while the others slept around him. He looked distant, lost in thought, as though his mind was someplace far away… but he always looked like that these days.

Whether he noticed her approach, she didn’t know. At that point, she wasn’t sure she even cared.

Slowly, carefully, she picked her way across the campsite, careful not to disturb anyone, easing herself down next to him and pressing herself against him like a small child, silently requesting comfort. And when he reached out and wrapped an arm around her without a word, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth flow through her at his touch.

She liked this, she decided. Despite all the hardships, she liked being here, with these people, with him.

There didn’t need to be anything more than that.


	7. Chapter 7

A long, exhausted sigh escaped Síora as she hunched over the soft parchment, charcoal in hand, carefully and methodically sketching out… something. She didn’t know what, exactly; only that it would eventually reveal itself to her as she continued.

Which so far, it had utterly failed to do.

Part of her couldn’t help but feel a little foolish, but she’d needed something to do. Something to help distract her, for a little while. Something to keep her busy instead of staring longingly out the window, wishing she was just about anywhere else.

Meanwhile, just a little ways down the hall, there was a thunderous _crash._

Síora’s eyes immediately flicked up at the sound, coming to rest on the door as her brow creased and irritation surged through her. For a moment, she waited, largely out of the vain hope that the commotion would fade back into silence, only to find herself sorely disappointed when it continued, only growing louder as the minutes dragged by. She tossed the parchment and charcoal aside and began massaging her temples, letting out a frustrated groan.

Finally, when she found she couldn’t ignore it anymore, she slipped off the bed and made her way out into the hallway, moving closer to the ruckus that was loud enough to have been heard by everyone by now. And in such a needlessly large dwelling, that truly was an accomplishment.

She tiptoed to the door, her hand hovering motionless in the air as the noise suddenly died down, plunging the house into its usual silence. For a moment, Síora waited there, debating whether or not it was even worth investigating. Whether or not she would regret intruding on his space. Whether or not he’d even appreciate it.

_No,_ she decided, a little faster than expected. Whatever was going on, whatever his reasons, it was _clearly_ something he needed to talk out with someone. And since she knew the renaigse all buried their feelings as if allergic…

Well. It had to be her, didn’t it?

She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself as much as possible, before opening the door and peeking inside to find a half-destroyed room. And there he was, half-draped across his desk and surrounded by debris, the shattered remains of a good portion of his own possessions.

For a time, Síora simply stayed there, leaning on the doorframe, arms folded tightly across her chest and her lips pursed into a thin, thoroughly unimpressed line.

“You are acting like a child.”

The instant the words were out of her mouth, he bolted upright, blinking several times as he twisted around in his chair to face her.

“Síora!” he gasped out her name, quickly shoving himself away from the desk and scrambling to his feet, going to pick up a few of the papers strewn across his desk before ultimately thinking better of it. “I- I was just…”

He trailed off into silence, apparently just now taking in the destruction that surrounded him, as well as her expression, his voice quickly dying in his throat. For a moment, there was silence, as she waited and he seemed to have nothing to say.

“…forgive me,” he mumbled after what felt like an eternity, quickly sinking to the floor out of shame.

Slowly, she edged her way inside, carefully easing the door closed behind her before making her way to his side, kneeling down next to him even as he turned away from her.

“Tell me what you are feeling,” she urged him quietly.

He turned even further away. “It’s nothing. Don’t concern yourself.”

She groaned and fell back, letting herself hit the floor out of sheer exasperation. “Are _all_ renaigse like this?”

Her question, at least, got him to look up, to return her gaze, even if it was simply to show his utter confusion at being asked such a thing.

“I- I’m sorry?”

“You don’t allow yourself to feel,” she pointed out, quickly gesturing at the destruction around them. “Then act surprised when it explodes out of you. What else do you expect to happen, on ol menawí?”

Immediately, his hand flew to his cheek in an effort to cover up his mark. “Don’t- _…please_ don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” she challenged. “What are you afraid of? Who you _really_ are?”

_“Yes!”_ he just about shouted at her, quickly getting to his feet and storming over to the window. “No!_ I don’t know!_ I just- …I don’t know.”

Síora leaned back against the wall then, exhaling quietly. That was… something, she supposed. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was at least _something._ He’d put up so many walls around himself, and all she could do was to patiently try to pull down each and every one, slowly and carefully chipping away at the seemingly impenetrable renaigse shell until she finally reached the person hiding inside.

At this point, she wondered if she would ever truly see him.

“You keep doing this,” she told him flatly. “You pretend things are fine, even when they aren’t. I can tell. Everyone can.”

His lip curled automatically at the accusation, though he still stared obstinately out the window. “I know. And I should be over it by now. _I know.”_

_“No,” _she said bluntly. “This _hurt_ you, and you need to _heal._ You cannot do that if you ignore it.”

There was a pause.

There was an absolutely excruciatingly long pause as Síora waited and he hesitated.

“You’ve a wound in your soul, on ol menawí,” she pressed. “Cleanse it with fire if you must, but do not let it fester.”

He didn’t answer.

She honestly wasn’t sure why she expected him to.

“Tell me,” she urged one more time.

“I wouldn’t want to burden you with trivialities.”

It took almost all of her strength not to roll her eyes at him. Truly, the renaigse and their _obsession _with hiding themselves from the world even at great personal cost would _never_ make sense to her.

“They are _not_ trivialities,” she argued. “And it is not a burden if I ask.”

“I… I just…” he began, awkward and halting, his face screwed up into an utterly _agonised _expression as he began to pace along the far wall. “I thought… I thought it was behind me. I thought I’d accepted it. But this…” he trailed off, anxiously glancing down at his hands. “It keeps coming back to bite me.”

“You don’t like being native,” she observed dryly.

“No!” he practically shouted, just a little too quickly, before pulling back with a horrified expression and glancing down at the floor immediately before him. “No, I don’t- that’s not what I… it’s just… Constantin won’t _talk_ to me about it. He’d rather just pretend it isn’t real, to keep living our lives the same way we always have, and… I’m not sure I can blame him. But everyone is telling me that nothing has changed, that it doesn’t matter what my real origins are, but I- …I can’t shake the feeling that _everything_ has changed. And it _does_ matter. It matters to _me.”_

He continued to pace the length of the room, back and forth, again and again, fidgeting nervously all the while, never quite sure what to do with himself.

“And- and Petrus knew!” he snarled like a wounded animal, his hands clenching into tight fists. “He _knew,_ all this time, and now he’s expecting me to just- just _forgive_ him! Act like it’s fine, like it doesn’t matter, like no harm was done!”

_“Is _that what he’s expecting?” Síora asked softly, finally pushing herself up off the floor.

He let out a small, breathless chuckle that was, in Síora’s view, more stress and hysteria than any actual humour.

“No,” he murmured. “I suppose he isn’t.”

“But that’s what it feels like.”

“…yes,” he hissed through gritted teeth, making no attempt at hiding his clear discomfort with the conversation. “But _now_ he’s talking about trying to find my family, as if it- as if it will change _anything!”_

Síora’s brow creased. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“No. I don’t,” he hissed, with such assurance and authority that for a moment – one brief, fleeting moment – Síora found herself genuinely believing him.

Just for a moment.

“Are you saying that because you truly do not want to know?” she asked quietly. “Or because you are afraid of what you might find?”

He let out a low growl at that, pulling away from the window, his gaze returning, almost unwillingly, to the debris scattered around the room. For such a long time, he didn’t answer at all, apparently preferring to stare dejectedly at the countless things he’d managed to break. Síora simply watched and waited, not really needing him to answer. She knew the truth. As much as he tried to hide his feelings, she found herself able to read him with an increasing ease.

Perhaps she was getting somewhere with him, after all.

“I just… what if they’re dead?” he managed finally. “What if there isn’t anything to find?”

“They will have a village,” she reminded him, a little tiredly. “They will have been part of a clan. There will be _something_ to find.”

“But what if- …what if they don’t _want_ me?”

The question was so quiet, so careful, so innocent, and _so_ insecure – as if asked by a frightened child. Síora chewed her lip, not quite sure how to answer him. Unsure if she was even able to do so in a way that would reassure him.

In that moment, her heart broke a little.

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“I’m _renaigse,_ aren’t I?” he pointed out, spitting out the word with more venom than she thought him capable, all while gesturing furiously at himself. _“I’m_ one of the people who tore their family members away, who torture them, want to control them, and even now is in the process of colonising their island and destroying their entire way of life-”

“You’ve done none of these things.”

“What _difference_ does it _make?!”_ he screamed, grabbing a half-empty bottle that had managed to survive his initial outburst from his desk and hurling it at the wall, barely reacting as it shattered. “That’s all they’re going to see! I’ll be a _monster_ to them! Why pretend any different?!”

“I don’t see you that way,” she pointed out quietly.

He shook his head furiously at that. “You’re different. When we met, it was under completely different circumstances, and-”

_“And,_ what? I’m different, because I thought you a renaigse?”

“You’re different, because I didn’t come to you _twenty-five years_ after you watched a loved one get dragged away with a story about how I’m your family!”

“What happened to your mátir was not your fault.”

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

He stood there, rooted to the spot, gaping wordlessly at her, his mouth opening and closing several times as he kept trying to speak, only for words to immediately fail him. For a time, Síora simply watched him back, a little surprised at his shock. It seemed such an obvious thing to her, but her words seemed to have shattered his entire world in that moment.

Had he really been _blaming_ himself for that?

And then;

“That…”

“Is _true,”_ she cut across him. “You are the _victim_ of a terrible injustice. Your family will not hold you responsible for it. And neither should you.”

The silence that filled the air at that point was strangely weighty, heavy with the lingering shock her words had clearly caused him. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to any of what she’d said, electing to simply stare with wide eyes, a strange mix of utter confusion and complete longing plastered across his face.

“I understand you are afraid,” she continued when he said absolutely nothing, apparently still too overcome by shock to really argue with her. “But you shouldn’t cut yourself off from people who will love you because of that fear.”

“How can you know that?” he managed finally, sinking slowly to the floor, the despair all too clear in his voice. “How can you be _sure?”_

“I can’t,” she murmured, her knuckles whitening as she anxiously grabbed up fistfuls of her skirt. “Not truly. But you are a _good person,_ and you deserve to be loved. Your family will see that.”

It was true, She _knew_ it was. All she wanted was for him to see it too. He was such a good person, who cared for everyone, all the time, despite everything he’d been through. He was so good and she cared about him _so much_ – so much more than she ever thought she would care about _anyone. _She only wished that he could _see_ that. That he would come to see himself as someone worth caring _for._

“I care about you,” she said without any hesitation, as she knew it in her heart now. “And I know your family will as well. Give them the chance to know you. Give yourself the chance to know _them.”_

“I… I don’t know if I can, Síora,” he whispered.

She sighed. “Don’t live your life in regret, on ol menawí. You deserve better than that.”

He gritted his teeth and looked away. “I’m not sure _what_ I deserve anymore.”

“Then what about what _they_ deserve?” she countered. “Twenty-five years after they watched a loved one get dragged away, don’t you think they _deserve_ to know her child survived?”

He didn’t answer.

“You need to heal this wound,” she reminded him, careful to keep her tone low and soft. “Perhaps this is how you do it. Will you at least _try?”_

There was yet another pause, yet another awful, painfully long pause as he didn’t respond and she found herself staring at him, silently begging to all the spirits of the island that he would find himself able to move past this, and change his mind. For his family’s sake, if not his own.

_Please don’t do this to yourself,_ she found herself begging silently.

“I’ll… consider it,” he managed finally.

The corners of her lips quirked with a small, sad smile. She had the feeling she wasn’t going to get any further than that with him. Not today.

“If that is all you can do,” she told him, “then I won’t ask for any more.”


	8. Chapter 8

They had walked this road before, several times now, but Síora couldn’t rid herself of the overwhelming feeling of _newness_ about it all. She had been to Vígnámrí before, many times. It was familiar territory, familiar dwellings nestled amongst familiar land, hiding behind a familiar wall of familiar carved bones. It was the same people, the same peaceful quiet, the same sights and sounds and smells. Many of the villagers even nodded politely at them as they approached, without any of the mild hostility or slight coldness they’d sometimes get in the other villages. This place knew them, just as much as they knew it. And yet, some part of her couldn’t help but feel as though she’d never been here before.

She’d been to Vígnámrí, so many times, but new context had made this place something else entirely.

What an odd thought that was to have. But it was the only way she could make sense of just how _alien_ everything suddenly felt.

Briefly, she wondered if he felt the same.

When she turned to look back at him, seemingly in an attempt to answer her own question, she found that he’d stopped at the entrance to the village, staring ahead, his face twisted up with a strange mix of curiosity, sadness, longing, and abject terror. In that moment, he seemed as though he was in complete agony.

Slowly, she made her way over to him.

“On ol menawí,” she called out to him, unable to help but smile slightly when he didn’t flinch at the phrase for the first time in what must’ve been weeks.

Part of her liked to think he’d truly begun to move past the trauma of the last few weeks, that he was finally beginning to accept what they’d discovered as fact, that he wasn’t fighting against it, or trying to hide from it anymore.

He didn’t look at her. In fact, he barely moved at all, seemingly completely absorbed in what was happening in the village around them – the people going about their daily lives, the faint murmuring of inane chatter as a few children ran about between buildings. He watched all of it with a keen but somehow distant interest, completely taken with the scene that played out before him.

Just normal village life.

A life he could’ve had.

By all rights, a life he _should’ve_ had.

Síora couldn’t help but wonder in that moment, about what it could’ve been like. About if she still would’ve met him at some point. About whether he would’ve been the same person he was now. About whether she would’ve felt the same way about him. She liked to think so. The connection between them was real and deep – if he was to her what she was beginning to suspect, then she knew that they would’ve come together at some point, no matter what lives they’d led previously. Fate would’ve demanded it.

Heat immediately rushed to her face the moment it crossed her mind – what a _terrifying_ thought that was.

She’d never felt this way about anyone.

“Are you alright?” she asked him, suddenly keen to focus on reality and not the storm of emotions that raging in both her mind and soul.

“Yeah…” he breathed, vacant and distant, before clearing his throat and little awkwardly and quickly looking away. “Yes, I- I’m fine.”

She quirked an incredulous eyebrow at him, opting not to say anything.

He let out small, breathless chuckle the instant he saw her expression. “Can’t hide anything from you, can I? I must be losing my touch.”

“Or perhaps I know you better now,” she reasoned.

His lips pulled into a small, faint smile. “Maybe you do.”

She smiled – _beamed,_ really – at him, not bothering to hide just how pleased that remark made her. How pleased she was to know that she’d actually succeeded in getting to him, the real him, the person behind all the walls he’d thrown up, the person he’d spent so long trying to hide from the world. It meant they had something, something real, something genuine, something that _mattered._

And maybe, just _maybe,_ it meant he felt it, too.

She heard it then, a small chuckle, a little fit of real, genuine laughter. Immediately, her glanced up, just in time to see an actual _smile_ on his face, laughing quietly for no real reason. And she started laughing too, unable to help herself. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed like he was actually happy.

Of course, the laughter died away almost as soon as it came, replaced once again with a slightly pained expression – though now to a lesser degree than before.

Small steps, at least.

“I’m really doing this,” he murmured, his voice strangled and hoarse. “This is actually happening.”

She nodded, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. It felt like the only thing she could really do, in that moment, as words seemed to completely fail her.

“I’m… not sure I’m ready.”

“You are,” she assured him quietly, squeezing his shoulder very gently. “Find your place, on ol menawí. You owe it to yourself.”

For a moment, he didn’t reply. Síora waited for a moment, and was beginning to wonder if she should say something else, her brain scrambling to think of something, _anything_ to say that would reassure him, when he leaned in close to her and gently kissed her on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he pulled back, his voice barely audible, though in that moment, Síora struggled to hear anything else.

She blinked several times, taking a moment to struggle with the reality of what had just happened. Everything was strangely blank, everything except a distinct warmth in what felt like her very soul – all it was seemed to be confirmation of all her feelings, assurance that she hadn’t imagined it, that it was real, and true.

She felt so _many_ things in that moment, it was a wonder she didn’t simply burst.

“For what?” she managed to choke out after what felt like an absolute eternity.

The corners of his lips twitched with the beginnings of a small smile once again. “Everything, Síora.”

She just stared at him, opening and closing her mouth several times as she tried to say something, _anything, _only for words to repeatedly fail her, too overcome with shock to even think about how to respond. Each time she tried to think of a response, the words would slip from her grasp and she’d find herself gaping at him once again in complete silence.

“I’ve been an ass these past few weeks,” he said softly after what felt like an agonising eternity.

She pursed her lips slightly. “You-”

He held up a hand to silence her. “I _have._ It doesn’t excuse my behaviour, I _know_ that. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I- …I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

She had nothing to say to that.

So she said nothing at all.

“Just… thank you,” he repeated, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “For being there, even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t know where I would be without you.”

Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. She reached out, fingers curling around his arm and pulling him in close, cupping his face with her hands as she pressed her lips against his. For a moment, she felt him tense, only to immediately relax, wrapping his arms around her and all but melting into the kiss.

She didn’t know how long they were there for, like that. In that moment, she found that she didn’t care.

And then, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, they broke apart, both gasping for air.

“I… shouldn’t keep Petrus waiting,” he managed in between a few ragged breaths, nodding towards the centre of the village, where the old sun stood, patiently waiting with only a few glances in their direction.

Síora pulled back as well, the heat flooding to her cheeks as he moved past her and headed into the village himself. She’d almost completely forgotten about the priest since they’d arrived, entirely too focused on other things. The rest of the world had seemed to fade out of existence entirely a few moments ago – it was nothing short of jarring to suddenly be reminded of it again.

He paused for a moment, turning on his heels to face her one last time, a small, tentative smile pulling at his lips. “Wish me luck?”

She smiled back at him. “Always, on ol menawí.”


	9. Chapter 9

It was quiet, that night in Dorhadgenedu.

Síora found herself pacing relentlessly around their small camp, staring adamantly at the ground before her and determined to ignore the rest of the world for the time being. Dread and nausea clawed at her gut as she tried to think of something, _anything,_ that wasn’t the impending doom that awaited them in the morning, and an uncomfortable, apprehensive silence had descended upon the village, the tension so thick it was almost completely unbearable.

It felt like the end of the world. To her, it might’ve been. After all, Tír Fradí _was_ her world.

How had it all gone so downhill, so quickly? One moment, things were looking up, and she had dared to be hopeful for the future. The next, they were staring down the barrel of oblivion, unable to do much of anything other than simply wait for the end to come. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she fought, it never seemed to be enough. Greed and pride always seemed to win out, in the end. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t sustainable. It didn’t matter if it doomed them all. The renaigse had come here, to her land, like a plague of locusts. And like locusts, they destroyed everything in their path until there was nothing left.

She glanced out at the sea of small campfires, at the renaigse that had followed them here, prepared to put their difference aside so they could all fight together against the terrible fate that awaited them. She knew they were not all bad. She knew some of them were good people. After everything she’d been through these past months, she had to know that. Had to _believe_ that, for her own sake. But when all these people had to band together in order to stand a chance at stopping just _one…_ what would happen, if they all turned? Would they even stand a chance? Already the odds felt insurmountable.

She couldn’t give in to despair, she knew that. But there didn’t seem to be much else she could do, in that moment.

And yet, if all this had never happened, if the renaigse had never come here… well. She never would’ve met him, would she?

She clung to that idea. In the face of everything else, part of her needed to.

Footsteps approached her then, just loud enough for her to hear, just enough to cause her to stop in her tracks, her head snapping up just in time to see him come to a halt a little ways from her, a small smile on his lips while his eyes were full of pain and sadness.

“How do I look?” he asked without any preamble, holding his hands out a little.

She immediately glanced over him, a little taken aback by the question, only to quickly realise that he was dressed in the all too familiar earthy tones of the traditional warrior garb.

It was such a far cry from what she was used to that for a moment, she felt as though she couldn’t recognise him at all. Before her stood one of her own people, an on ol menawí dressed for war, with almost no trace of the renaigse he used to be. Not too long ago, she might’ve been happy to see him this way; to see him fully embrace the person he was. Instead, she was greeted with a bitter emptiness as she understood just what he doing, just how much of his life and identity he was now rejecting.

It seemed that no matter what he did, no matter what side he chose, there was always going to be a part of him he would have to cut out forever. The world and everything in it was tearing at him, pulling him in a thousand different directions at once. It always had. But now, he was forced to make a choice, knowing that one way or another, he was doomed to lose.

And she didn’t know how she felt about it anymore.

Slowly, she drifted over to him, reaching for a couple of strings on his collar that hadn’t been done up correctly. He didn’t move away like she half-expected him to, rather simply remained there, almost perfectly still as she carefully knotted the lose strings before quickly checking over the rest of him. When she found nothing else she could fix, she reached up, cupping his face with her hands and pulling him in and softly kissing him.

“Like one of us, on ol menawí.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Oh, and Síora?”  he called, causing her head to snap up at the sound of his voice, just in time to see him standing a little ways from her, a beautiful smile on his lips despite the carnage that surrounded them. “Cair to.”

For much too long, she simply stood there, rooted to the spot, completely at a loss. Part of her screamed for her to say something, to give a reply, to tell him just how much he’d come to truly mean to her, but it never happened. Instead, she simply stood there in silence, unable to do much more than give a small, stiff nod and watch on helplessly as he turned around and began making his way further uphill, Petrus following on behind. 

And all she could do was stand there and watch him go, not knowing if she would see him again.

Staying was the right thing to do, she knew it. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier, however. Knowing never did.

Without thinking, she ran after him, scrambling up the steep incline of the volcano’s slopes out of some vain hope she would be able to catch him before he disappeared even further into the Heart. She didn’t know why, exactly, only that she felt she needed to. Needed to reassure herself, needed to be with him, to say goodbye properly. She just… needed something.  _ Anything. _

He stopped dead in his tracks, almost immediately turning on his heels to face her as if he’d somehow sensed her presence behind him. For one tiny, fleeting moment, they both just stood there, staring at each other in almost complete silence before Síora rushed forwards, pulling him in close and pressing her lips against his.

He returned the kiss almost hungrily, wrapping his arms around her until she was pressed against his chest, his grip gentle but firm. Síora didn’t care; she focused solely on taking him in, every aspect of him, committing each and every part of him to memory out of the almost crushing fear that she would never experience this closeness ever again. 

“Is this the last time I’ll see your face?” she asked quietly as she pulled away just to look him in the eyes, hating herself as her voice wavered, her eyes frantically searching his face.

He didn’t answer. Not at first.

Síora waited, desperately trying to ignore how her gut clenched at his hesitation, and what she knew it meant. He wouldn’t lie to her. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do it. She knew that much.

“…I don’t know,” he whispered finally, not bothering to hide the slight crack in his voice as the words left him. 

Just once, she found herself wishing that he would simply lie to her.

She pulled back, gesturing at the path ahead of him as she frantically blinked back tears.

“Go.”


End file.
